


Fortunate Son

by Heronfem



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Amnesia, Bucky never remembers, Child Abuse, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, M/M, emotional distress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 14:57:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2697164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heronfem/pseuds/Heronfem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We have miles to go before we sleep.</p>
<p>Or, the one where the Winter Soldier comes back, Howard Stark was a terrible man, Bruce is enigmatic, and Steve learns about CCR.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fortunate Son

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Ohsebs, who turns me into poetry.

For all his metal and hair band music, Tony has a classier side as well. It comes from so many years of watching his father drink to big band swing and brood, and his mother teaching him how to waltz to Chopin because, as she said late one evening when the sun was streaming through the windows of their home into the ballroom, "One day you're going to want to prove to a pretty girl that you can dance, and I'm going to make sure that you don't step on her toes."

After his mother died, Tony spent months and months in ballroom classes, and by the time they ended he could dance a perfect waltz, Viennese waltz, tango, quickstep, two step, rumba, samba, cha-cha and foxtrot drunk, high, or both. He told this to Steve as Steve fixed his bow tie before they left the tower tonight, off-handed.

It's a weird skill to have, but Pepper obviously appreciates it.

Steve watches them dance while he tries not to fidget in his suit. It's an uncomfortable one tonight, something off with the shirt, and as he's just about to try and see if he can sidle off to the bathroom, Bruce appears soundlessly at his elbow. He smiles beatifically up at him, and grabs his arm.

"Dance with me."

It's not a request.

"Are you leading?"

"Indeed I am."

Bruce steers him out onto the floor, and suddenly he's dancing. He's not totally certain on how this happened, but Bruce is good, so he goes with it.

"We'll be in the papers tomorrow," he says conversationally as Bruce easily leads him through a tricky piece of footwork. Honestly, he's reminded of learning to dance with Bucky all those years ago. It's nice.

Bruce shrugs, and twirls him, making him laugh. It's easy, this thing they have. They've settled now that Steve has seen his demons, knows where they hide and how to fight them. Bruce, in turn, knows how to listen to him. Can't listen to Tony without napping, but he can listen to Steve. He's good like that.

Once they've left the dance floor, they end up on the balcony of the ballroom. The place they're at is far too fancy for either of them.

"You know," Bruce says, sitting down at the little round table with exaggerated care, "I've always wanted to take up smoking. I can't die from it, after all."

"Others around you could," Steve points out as he joins him. "God knows how many men were addicted by the time I left the war."

Bruce makes a noise of sad agreement, and they stare out over the lights of the city. In the darkness the city is a glowing, golden mass, the streets lit with speeding cars and too many lights. Steve looks up. He can faintly see stars, and feels, more than hears Bruce sigh next to him. He remembers the stars of the French Countryside, a vast colorful array that covered them like a blanket. Even on the other side of the world, the stars were the same.

"In the arctic," he says after a long while of quiet. "Were there stars?"

Bruce is silent for a time, stretching it out into a living thing that waits with bated breath to snatch up his words. Steve knows what he's asking. The lowest point at the top of the world- that was when he changed.

"I dream of them still," he whispers at last. "They stretched so far, pure white on black, just glowing and gleaming, the arms of the Milky Way wrapping around the world."

Steve looks back at the city lights. It's easier.

"Let's go home," Bruce says, and Steve looks at him. He's clearly not upset, just tired, and he nods, standing to help his friend.

oOo

They don't fall into bed with each other, exactly, because Bruce is in love with a woman and Steve is in mourning even if he won't admit it, but they do go home and raid Tony's record collection and cigars, because why the fuck not.

It turns out that he has a full collection of Creedence Clearwater Revival, which Steve has never heard of and Bruce insists he listen to. So they settle in with a massive plate of nachos and let Jarvis run wild with it.

Steve feels chills run down his spine as the opening chords roll out, notes soaring as guitar starts a low slick melody, and snares in the back set up the rhythm. Bruce relaxes back into the couch, exhaling slowly, cigar glowing in the darkness as he takes a slow drag on it, smoke curling out between his lips. For one terrifying, wrenching moment, he's back n France, watching Bucky stare him down from the other side of the officers club, wreathed in the darkness, his eyes gleaming with unconcealed lust as smoke falls from his lips.

A raspy, rich voice starts crooning and Steve forgets to breathe. Something in him clicks, and he listens with growing relief as the man- "John Fogerty, Steve."- sings about things that he understands. By the time _Run Through The Jungle_ finishes, he's smiling. Bruce smiles back.

They _get_ it.

oOo

Steve has never much been into music, but now he has something to run with. And so he does. When he hits the treadmills, it's to the sounds of CCR, and nothing in this world resonates with him so well as that. Bruce joins him, sometimes, though at a much more sedate pace. Thor, on those rare occasions that he could visit, would sit and listen as well, somber as he considered it. He tells them about fighting. He tells them of wars, and cruelty, and a father who, in retrospect, was no kinder than the Jotun they were taught to despise.

Hate, it seems, transcends species.

Thor buys an iPod, and Tony helps him navigate ancient technology to upload music to it. Steve does the same, and falls asleep to _Have You Ever Seen The Rain_.

oOo

After everything. After SHIELD falls. After HYDRA comes back.

Bucky shows up.

Or, the Winter Soldier.

He's lost and scared and confused. They find him in Central Park. He's in a little cave, eyes wild, half out of his mind with confusion. Steve wishes that Bruce wasn't in Cameroon with all his heart when he sees him. Tony's already calling their scientist by the time he lands in the suit, and Natasha is near vibrating with the urge to kill. Clint, unflappable as ever, simply climbs into a tree and nocks an arrow.

Steve comes in the closest thing he can find to the clothes of the 40's, crouches outside the cave, and waits.

The man inside is scruffy and scared, his silver arm twitching a little. He has a couple false starts at speaking as he cautiously inches forward, and slowly says, "I…know you."

"Yes," Steve says, his heart breaking. "You do."

The man licks his lips, eyes flicking to Tony, who's lifted his visor. He freezes. "Him," he says hoarsely. "Him, I know him, I killed him."

The world stops a little, and Tony pulls the helmet completely off. The confusion clears from the Winter Soldier's face, and he slumps.

"Not a ghost," Steve says, his voice choked. Bucky killed Howard, and Maria _oh God, Tony learning how to dance for his mother who Bucky killed killed killed_. "This is Tony. He is the son of Howard Stark. Do you remember Howard?"

The Winter Soldier can't stop staring at Tony. "How-How-Howard," he stutters, almost on repeat. "Called him that. Didn't I? Did we? He made things tick. Or not tick. Ticked me off."

Steve lets out a little broken laugh. "Yeah, that's right. That's right. Do- do you remember me?"

The Winter Soldier looks at him, chest heaving. "Home," he says, his voice breaking. "Home, home, home, you're home."

oOo

It takes Steve no less than three hours to coax him out and take him back to the Tower. By then Bruce is on his way, leaving Tony a message with Jarvis that simply says, "You know my fees." Tony and Pepper both turn bright red, and Steve elects to think about that another day while he shuffles the Winter Soldier to the makeshift medical area that Tony threw together one weekend after Natasha came back complaining about sub par hospital standards. Even for Tony, the med wing is a little over the top.

Steve keeps him in the quietest area, gently checks him over. His fingers skate over silver, and he touches the star with trembling fingers. He read the history of that star, what it meant. The horrors it inflicted. To see the man he loved branded with it…

He tears his fingers away. That isn't important right now. So he bandages wounds and helps him sluice away the dirt. The Winter Soldier watches him with slightly awed eyes as he gently washes away the grime, bit by bit. They don't dare put him in a shower for fear of his arm, so Steve helps, going through rag after rag.

He has him sit and silently takes Howard's old cutthroat razor that Tony offers without a word. The Winter Soldier tips his head back so easily that Steve's breath catches in his throat at the sight of the soft, exposed skin. The Soldier's eyes close, and he stays still and calm as Steve lathers up his jaw and throat.

The slow drag of the razor feels like a benediction, and the Soldier sighs, going boneless in the chair. Steve could cry from how beautiful he looks, soaped up and hair still a mess, a ratty towel around his neck. He's perfect.

By the time Steve has finished the task of shaving him, he's fallen asleep. He's snoring a little, just like before, and Steve feels the sobs that have been hiding all day bubble up. As the Winter Soldier slept again, he cried it all out.

oOo

Bruce was there by the time he woke up the next day, sitting in the corner of Steve's room in his favorite chair and calmly reading his copy of _The Art of War_. It's a very battered copy. Steve fixates on this for a minute as his brain tries to catch up, because he's strangely comfortable.

"You passed out in the medical bay," Bruce says with his typical calm. "Tony decided he would keep watch on our guest while you slept, but the guest decided he wanted to come with you."

Steve goes very still for a second, and then carefully rolls over.

The Winter Soldier blinks owlishly from where he's been huddled behind him. It's hard to think of him as scary when he's cuddling a pillow, and Steve stares for a moment.

"Hi," he says cautiously.

"Hi," The Winter Soldier parrots back.

Bruce closes his book. "And now that we've taken care of the pleasantries, time to get up."

oOo

The deal is this. The Winter Soldier may remain, in the hopes that he understands more, that he learns more, that he can figure out who he was and who he will be. He is Steve's responsibility. He is not to be left alone except to shit.

The Winter Soldier accepts this all without question.

He goes everywhere with Steve from then on out, and that is simply that. Steve is more okay with this than he wants to admit. Tony is not at all thrilled about it. Natasha and Clint regard the man with a sort of deep distrust. Thor doesn't say a word on the matter, silently watching and serious as could be. Bruce, on the other hand, flat out likes him.

Bruce starts to go with them on walks through the city. Bruce is a master of disguise, and with some careful teaching, they blend easily enough to go out to eat some days.

The Winter Soldier, post hair cut, looks so much like Bucky it kills him some days. Steve tries his hardest not to call him that, though. This- this man, it may have his Bucky's body, but there's no mind there at this point. He wants his Bucky back, he wants James Buchanan Barnes to be the one to sneak into his room at night and cuddle up with him instead of a Soviet assassin with a fragmented mind.

The days get better. They move on.

oOo

The Soldier has fragments of memory coming back, but it's a slow process. They go on a lot of walks through Brooklyn, down along the docks, out through the Parks. They visit museums, and Steve spends hours telling him about the art classes he takes now at the university. He even takes him one day, when the Soldier feels up to it, and the man somehow gets roped into modeling for the class. Everyone sucks in a breath when he slides off his shirt, the silver arm gleaming. One of Steve's classmates leans over and whispers, "He's _glorious_."

Steve is inclined to agree, and when the Soldier stretches out, draping himself over the blocks and pillows that are hastily set out so he can be comfortable, he catches his breath. His long, lean lines and scars are new, but as he slips into a comfortable position, completely at ease bare, Steve can only see Bucky.

For once the class is utterly silent, still as can be as people smudge charcoal shapes and labor over the delicate lines of the arm. Steve feels nothing but a deep, fierce ache of love and the picture mirrors his emotions beautifully. Others look in, sucking in breath as they saw the arm and body attached to it. More than one veteran stares with longing and Steve decides to start haranguing Tony into thinking about making prosthetics. If Russian assholes could make the Winter Soldier, Tony can make something to help the men and women who so desperately need arms from those taken by his own bombs.

When the Soldier wakes up at the end of the session, Stretching like a sated, loose-limbed cat, it's all Steve can do to keep from pouncing on him. He looks incredibly fuckable, and if the look he shoots Steve is an indicator, he intends to do that.

By the time they get to an alley dark enough, Steve is jittery with desire and the Soldier is dragging possessive teeth over his skin. Steve gets fucked in an alley with scant lube, a shit ton of pain, and teeth buried in his neck deep enough to draw blood. He's completely in love with how rough it is, how his body can take it, and bites the Soldier's metal hand to keep from screaming when he comes.

He makes a note of the spot– he's going to find out if he can get tattooed tomorrow. He wants to feel those teeth claiming him forever. Finally, he belongs again.

oOo

By the time they get home, Steve is beyond healed up, and the Soldier is swaggering like he's just won the lottery. They manage to get to the floor Steve lives on and out of the shower before Steve shoves him to the wall and falls to his knees like a starving man. He knows this body better than his own, doesn't have any qualms about sucking him down. He's done that since his body was a stick that broke in cold wind. He doesn't know how many hours, how many _days_ he spent on his knees for this man, but he's not done yet.

Once the Soldier is panting and scrambling at his shoulders in desire, he pulls off with a positively filthy slurp and gets up. "Bed," he insists, and to bed they go.

oOo

Later, when they're sweat soaked and filthy and reeking of sex, Steve tells the ceiling, "I don't care, you know. If you ever remember. I know that the doctors said you might not. I'm okay with that. I'm with you to the end of the line, memories or not."

The ceiling he painted himself. It is, quite frankly, his masterpiece. Bruce would spend hours simply sprawled out on the floor, letting Hulk look out through his eyes at the clouds that floated across. At night the clouds switch to painted stars a rotating gift from Stark. The canvas is on rollers rolling a sun and stars over his ceiling. He even let Steve rig it with lights, so a little sun traverses its merry way across the sky, glowing gently.

The Soldier watches the stars, and they are quiet for a very long time.

Steve is mostly asleep when a hoarse voice says, "I think I'd love you no matter who I was. But I think I want to be James, now."

oOo

Bruce is the first to know. It takes him precisely 30 seconds to figure it out over breakfast, and watches them consideringly for the rest of the morning. Steve doesn't know what he says to the Soldier- James- but James comes back from talking to him with a curious look on his face. Steve decides it's better not to ask. Bruce has that effect on people.

Tony figures it out by the ends of the day. To Steve's great surprise, he is completely quiet about it, only softly saying to him in the lab, "Make sure you treat him right. It's not every day you get a second chance like this." And then he goes back to work on some sort of thruster, and Steve stays to hand him tools.

Thor and Natasha come in late, for the simple reason that Thor had never really walked the city and Natasha knew how to keep them from being noticed. They both pause when they see James and Steve on the couch, watching _Singing in the Rain_ in complete fascination.

"So _that's_ how it worked," Steve was saying, watching as the microphones were positioned. They're holding hands, James' head resting on his shoulder. "I never really knew. Silly, now."

James looks back, and actually smiles at the two. "Do you want to come watch?"

He looks so earnest that Thor immediately melts, vaulting over the couch to sit beside him stealing some of the popcorn and exclaiming when he realizes what movie it is. Thor has a soft spot for musicals. He's been to every show on Broadway he can, and can sing the entirety of _Rent_ word perfect.

Natasha, however, gives Steve a long, measured look, and he quietly excuses himself to follow her into the hall. It's been a quiet day, and the tower is dark rather than the humming, bustling home it normally is.

"What are you doing?" she asks bluntly.

"I was watching a movie-"

"Don't even start, Steve. That is not Bucky out there. He's done things that make even me look twice," she says, keeping her voice low.

"You think I don't know that?" Steve hisses, tamping down the sudden burst of rage. "I know what he's done, I've hunted down every lead, I've listened to him talk about it. I know he's not Bucky. Bucky is dead now, but I have James, and I'm not letting him go."

Natasha looks like she wants to fight him on this, but Steve leaves.

oOo

That night, if he holds James especially tight and his kisses are a little desperate, James is kind enough not to mention it.

oOo

Tony doesn't have many vices these days. He drinks too much, sure, but he's loyal to Pepper, loyal to Bruce, talks to people about the bad days, and rarely works himself into the ground. He has plenty of good days, they easily outweigh the bad, but the bad days…

Steve comes him from his run with James and goes with him to find Bruce. The plan had been to work on the arm that day, but they find Bruce in the Hulk room, looking a little green and talking to himself. James arm twitches when they see the lab, overturned like people had body slammed into the walls. Razor blade fingernails slide out, and Steve picks up one of Tony's terrifying electric baton's. Together they make their way through the building, clearing each room on the way up. Tony is the only option here, everyone else gone for the day, and while Steve doesn't want to hurt him, he may have the armor on and be half out of his mind.

They find Tony in the living room, in a massively oversized dress shirt and little else, watching news reels from the war. Howard is on the screen, talking to engineers and scientists and generally doing his job. He looks like Tony, alive and vibrant, creating like mad. Tony is completely still, and for one terrifying moment Steve thinks he's dead. But he's breathing, so Steve nods to James, who lets the blades slide back. He sets down the baton, and steps around the couch, only to freeze.

"Tony," he says, his voice low and calm, "you want to give me that?"

Half under his leg is a gun. Loaded or not, it doesn't matter, Tony shouldn't have it.

The man lifts it up with a hooked finger in the trigger guard, handing it over. Steve passes it to James, who strips it with clinical precision. If he wasn't so concerned about Tony, Steve would be ridiculously turned on.

Tony hasn't looked away from Howard, who is now briefing people on another weapon.

"He didn't fucking stop until he was dead," Tony snarls abruptly, and it's only his training that keeps Steve from recoiling at the pure hate in his voice. "Never fucking touched Mom, barely even knew she existed, but me, well, he must have shoved magnets in my skin and worn iron knuckles. Day he died he called to tell me he didn't care that I liked MIT, he was pulling my funding and bringing me back here to keep a closer eye on me. Eye on me, as fucking if, he could barely stand to look at me. He just wanted a punching bag again." He turns, looking fiercely up at James, who takes a subtle step back. "Thank you. I can't thank you for killing Mom, I loved her beyond words, but him." He points without looking at the TV. "Thank you for taking that sack of shit to Hell."

Steve is suddenly back in Camp, staring down Colonel Phillips who's looking them over. " _He will be the first of a new breed of super soldier. And they will personally escort Adolf Hitler through the gates of Hell._ "

James looks like he wants to protest, but simply says, "I know that this won't help, but she laughed when she died. Said he was free at last. I suppose she meant you."

Tony smiles, hard and brittle. "Thank you."

He gets up, grabbing a bottle from the shelf. Waving at them, he says, "You shouldn't tell Bruce about that. I'm not half the mess he is."

The door slams behind him, and Steve collapses on the couch.

"What happened to you?" He asks the TV, his throat tightening. "You could you do that, you bastard?"

James metal hand strokes feather soft over his throat from behind. He closes his eyes, head tipping back in easy submission, and the hand keeps it up, slow strokes that keep him grounded and floating all at once. If a few tears slide away from his eyes, that's no one's business but his own.

oOo

That evening, when Bruce is no longer green, he comes to their bedroom. James watches him with dark eyes for a moment before pulling Steve over and nodding at the bed. Bruce is there in a heartbeat, burrowing under the blankets and pressing tight to Steve.

All of them wake up from nightmares.

oOo

When Clint gets back from assignment a month later, he just grabs Tony's scotch, and then grabs Tony. "Drink with me."

"I'm down."

Slowly everybody migrates, and James, Steve, and Bruce delight themselves in making the most ridiculous concoctions they can. Thor grabs Bruce and teaches him to dance an Asgardian dance, and after watching for a moment James grabs Steve and pulls him out. He copies it flawlessly. Steve stumbles here and there, bright red as James easily moves him. He moves better now than he ever has, and by the time the evening ends, Steve considers himself at least passable.

They end up swaying together, a slight foxtrot as Steve curls into him, sighing happily. The world is dark and light outside, New York glowing under the Stark Tower, and Steve thinks of stars as he settles into James' arms. They're out on the balcony, the glass railing the only thing keeping them from the air, from the earth. Steve remembers dancing like this back in their old apartment, getting up in the middle of the night to move together so his feet didn't freeze and his heart kept pounding.

"Missed this," he whispers, and James rests their heads together. "Missed you."

"Missed you too," James whispers, and Steve feels the world settle in his bones, like a missing piece has been found and pressed back into his soul.


End file.
